


1981: First Steps

by Luthien



Series: Pas de Deux [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Backstory, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-25
Updated: 2005-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:26:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape arrives at Hogwarts as a teacher, friendless, and determined to remain so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1981: First Steps

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written in 2005, so some aspects of it have been overtaken by canon.

_"And Potter -- *do* try and win, won't you? Or we'll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row, as Professor Snape was kind enough to remind me only last night..."_

\--Professor Minerva McGonagall, 'Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban'

* * *

When Snape first arrived back at Hogwarts as a teacher instead of a student, he avoided the company of his colleagues as much as possible. Most of the other professors were more than happy to assist him in his objective of having nothing to do with anyone else outside of official school business, especially after all initial overtures of friendliness and attempts at social chit-chat were firmly - not to say aggressively - rebuffed. Before very long, Snape had largely succeeded in his aim, apart from the necessary evil of taking meals in the Great Hall, and even then he and the other teachers were very much on duty, so it was hardly a social occasion. After the first week, almost no one attempted to say more to the new Potions master during meal times than "Pass the salt," and "Butter, please!" and, very occasionally, "watch the pumpkin juice!"

Professor Dumbledore, of course, was quite undeterred by Snape's less than welcoming demeanour and continued to engage him in conversation at every opportunity. The headmaster could be relied upon to abruptly start up a conversation about the most ridiculous and trivial of subjects - the unexpected hazards of bird ownership when one was possessed of very long hair and an equally long, flowing beard; the mystery of where all the lost socks went to; the particular flavour of the gravy served with dinner that night, which reminded him of another dinner he'd enjoyed in South Wales on New Year's Day, 1922. These conversations almost always took a serious turn, quite as abruptly as they began. When Snape least expected it, he would suddenly find himself the target of two piercing blue eyes that seemed to delve into the depths of his soul. He quickly grew to dread the headmaster's company at meal times, and soon removed himself to the far end of the teachers' table, where it was impossible for Dumbledore to accost him without getting out of his own seat in order to engage Snape in conversation - which, indeed, he did on a more or less weekly basis.

The only other person who continued to attempt to strike up a conversation with Snape after the first week or so was, rather surprisingly - or not, depending on which way you looked at it - Minerva McGonagall. She tried any number of topics in those first weeks. Sure that the headmaster had put her up to it, Snape resisted her efforts every time. It wasn't until the night she casually mentioned the excellent chances of the Gryffindor Quidditch team in that year's competition for the Quidditch Cup that she actually got a real response out of Snape. She'd made the comment just in passing as she was making her way to the door after dinner, and clearly with no real expectation of anything more than a grunt in acknowledgement from Snape, because she positively blinked when he looked her right in the eye and laughed. It wasn't a jolly laugh, or a particularly friendly one: it was a derogatory laugh, and he didn't make any attempt to keep the challenge out of it.

"My dear Professor McGonagall, surely you can't believe that anyone in Gryffindor House is a match for David Greeves?"

McGonagall looked hard at him over the rims of her square spectacles. "None of our team members by themselves is a match for him, I'll grant you that much, Severus. However, every member of the Gryffindor team is good, sound player, _and_ they understand the importance of teamwork. Taken as a whole, our players and their spirit of teamwork will beat your single, flashy star Seeker, any day."

"I really don't know how you can believe such deluded nonsense. The 'spirit of teamwork', indeed," Snape sneered.

"I have rather more experience in organising House Quidditch teams than you," McGonagall pointed out as she sat down in the empty seat beside him.

"You're surely not going to stand on your House's record?" Snape said incredulously.

"Gryffindor has a highly respectable average of wins in the Quidditch Cup," McGonagall retorted.

"The average isn't too bad if you look at it over fifty years, no," Snape allowed, "but what about the last twenty?"

"Surely you haven't forgotten-" McGonagall began heatedly, and then pursed her lips before completing the sentence. Suddenly, she looked sad, and old.

"My own schooldays?" said Snape, his stomach churning as he inwardly cursed himself. Ever since he'd come back to Hogwarts, he'd tried to the full extent of his powers _not_ to get caught up in any casual conversation that might lead to mention of the Potters, and the first time - the _very_ first time - he let his guard down for more than a minute the spectre of James Potter rose up to haunt him. He would never be free of him, never. He'd been a fool to think that he could avoid it in coming back to Hogwarts. He shouldn't have-

"We had a very good team during much of the time that you were a student here, Severus. I'm sure you won't dispute that," McGonagall said quietly. And then, more briskly, she added, "And _since_ then, our team has performed admirably."

Snape shot her a surprised look. The hint of challenge was back in her voice and she held her head up high, as firm and determined as ever he'd seen her.

"Oh yes?" said Snape, arching one brow. He was damned if the Head of Slytherin was going to be bested in the recovery stakes by the Head of Gryffindor. "I don't recall hearing that Gryffindor had won the Cup at any point these last five years, while Slytherin won it only two years-"

"Slytherin has won it all of once in the last ten years, as you know very well!" McGonagall snapped.

"We'll do much better in the next few years," Snape assured her.

"And just how do you know that? I don't remember that you were ever the stuff that Sybill Trelawney's star pupils are made of."

"All the more reason to believe my prediction then." Snape steepled his fingers beneath his chin and allowed himself the tiniest of smirks.

"Severus! I'm surprised at you. You know you shouldn't say things like that!" But she bit her lip, perhaps to stop an involuntary smile. "It doesn't set a good example."

"To the students?" enquired Snape. "But there aren't any students here." He swept one hand in a broad arc, indicating the room at large. What he said was true: the Great Hall was empty of students, and they were the only two teachers remaining at the head table.

"Even so," said McGonagall firmly. "Is your prediction of Slytherin's prospects based on any solid facts?" she asked, before he had a chance to respond to her reproof.

"You don't really expect me to answer that, do you?"

"I suppose it depends," mused McGonagall, and then nodded her head decisively. "Perhaps if you'd care to make it interesting?"

If Snape had still been eating his dinner, he would have choked. A wager was the last thing he'd ever expected to hear on Minerva McGonagall's lips. Well, just about the last thing, anyway. There were only one or two things he considered more unlikely - but those really were beyond the realms of possibility.

"And just how much you would be prepared to risk on the outcome of this year's Quidditch competition?" he asked carefully.

"Quintus Abernethy and I used to vary the terms year by year," McGonagall said blandly, watching him closely.

Snape kept his face perfectly blank, not allowing his eyes to widen. "You and Professor Abernethy used to bet on the Quidditch Cup?" he asked, in just as bland a tone of voice.

"Every year. It's something of a tradition between the heads of Gryffindor and Slytherin, you know."

"I see," said Snape, though he didn't. Not at all. He had a great deal of trouble imagining his old head of house entering into even a semi-friendly wager with the head of Gryffindor. Well, not unless there was something in it for him that he considered worth the trouble

"Do you?" asked McGonagall, fixing him with an unblinking stare, and Snape had the sudden feeling of playing the rodent in a game of cat and mouse.

"I wouldn't wish to break with tradition," said Snape, quite aware that he'd done his best to sever every other traditional tie between Slytherin and the other three houses since his return to Hogwarts the previous month -and also quite aware that McGonagall was fully conversant with everything he'd done since the day he arrived.

"Of course not," said McGonagall.

"So, what were the terms last year - no, the year before last?" Snape asked. There would not have been any bet last year. Professor Abernethy had not long survived the start-of-term banquet, and Slytherin house had had to put up with the ignominy of a fill-in head in the form of Professor Sinistra for almost an entire year.

"When Slytherin won?" McGonagall's lips pursed again at the unpleasant memory. "I handed over the very last bottle of the Ogden's Special Reserve my father left me."

"That's all?" said Snape, somewhat disappointed.

"And the usual two hundred Galleons," added McGonagall.

That was more like it, Snape thought, but he was surprised that the promise of mere money could have held Professor Abernethy's interest over a period of so many years.

"Nothing else?" he asked, just to be sure.

"I dressed in green and silver for the entire last week of term," McGonagall said in an extremely no nonsense tone that Snape knew well from his own schooldays. No one had ever dared try to put anything over McGonagall when she was in _that_ sort of mood.

Snape leaned back in his chair, and smirked again. Now all was clear.

"And I took him to dinner. At the Silver Slipper Inn," she added so casually that it might have been an afterthought.

Snape's eyes did widen then. That was It was expensive. And exclusive. And not the sort of place you'd expect to find two Hogwarts professors having dinner.

"We were rivals, but we were also good colleagues. And good friends," said McGonagall, her voice much softer now. "I miss him."

Snape straightened in his chair. "So that's the reason for all this?" he said hardly, making a broad gesture which took in them both.

"There are many reasons," said McGonagall.

She didn't need to say any more. Snape knew. She cared for the school. She cared for her principles and beliefs. And she cared about things that both of them were in up to their very necks but about which neither could talk easily or in public. A public rivalry would make it easier for them to meet in private every so often without occasioning undue comment. Snape understood the score.

Something tugged at his sleeve and Snape whirled around, on his feet and wand at the ready in an instant.

"Severus!" McGonagall cried. She was still seated. Of course.

Snape stared down the length of his wand at the trembling house-elf. "What?" he snapped at it, laying the menace on thick.

"P-please Professor-sir, Wimbly is only trying to clear the room, as is his task after the evening meal, Professor-sir," it squeaked.

Professor McGonagall got to her feet. "I believe that's our cue to leave, Severus." She held out her arm for him to take.

"So it would seem," said Snape, glaring at the house-elf.

Clearly realising that Snape was likely to do the creature some mischief if he stayed in close proximity to it any longer, McGonagall stepped forward and took his arm instead. "Come with me, Severus. I have something in my quarters I believe you might find of interest."

"Oh?" Snape allowed his attention to be diverted, and even went so far as to look McGonagall in the eye and raise an eyebrow to further emphasise the question.

"Quintus only thought that he got the very last bottle of the Ogden's Special Reserve from me two years ago."

"Really? How interesting, Professor," said Snape, stowing his wand back in his sleeve pocket.

"I had a feeling you might think so," said McGonagall, leading him out of the room. "And Severus?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?"

"Call me Minerva from now on. It's not as if you're a student here any longer. We're equals now."

As they walked away, Minerva McGonagall's hand still firmly clasped around his arm and guiding him towards the door, Snape sincerely doubted that they were any such thing. Not yet, and maybe not for a long time to come.


End file.
